


(Not Automatically) A Certain Guarantee

by angellwings



Category: Chicago Fire
Genre: Confessions, Danger, F/M, Idiots in Love, Misunderstandings, One Shot, Season 9 speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27169147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angellwings/pseuds/angellwings
Summary: The last two shifts have been a whirlwind of fear, adrenaline, and reflection. He’s exhausted but also restless as the clock approaches the end of shift. Sleeping was practically impossible. He grabbed barely four hours and spent the rest staring out over the bunkroom.Looking for her.But she never came into the room.She’s avoiding him.And he wishes she would stop.
Relationships: Sylvie Brett/Matthew Casey
Comments: 65
Kudos: 196





	(Not Automatically) A Certain Guarantee

**Author's Note:**

> Two Chicago Fire-less Wednesdays to go until the hiatus is over! YAY!  
> Happy reading!  
> xoxo

_******_

_“Tell her about it,_

_Tell her all your crazy dreams._

_Let her know you need her,_

_Let her know how much she means._

_Listen boy,_

_It's not automatically a certain guarantee,_

_To insure yourself,_

_You've got to provide communication constantly._

_When you love someone,_

_You're always insecure,_

_And there's only one good way,_

_To reassure.”_

_-“Tell Her About It” by Billy Joel_

_******_

The last two shifts have been a whirlwind of fear, adrenaline, and reflection. He’s exhausted but also restless as the clock approaches the end of shift. Sleeping was practically impossible. He grabbed barely four hours and spent the rest staring out over the bunkroom.

Looking for her.

But she never came into the room.

She’s avoiding him.

And he wishes she would stop.

The last time Sylvie Brett avoided him, she was pissed and feeling abandoned. He understood that. Even while it was happening he understood that. He felt pissed and abandoned himself. But this time…

This time is different.

He looks down at his phone and opens his text messages. He’d texted her at least five times during their forty-eight off and received no response. He’d broken down and called her after that and she sent him straight to voicemail. And then yesterday morning she ducked her head and swerved to the side entrance when she saw him walk out onto the apron.

Yes, she’s definitely avoiding him.

He knows why. He remembers it clear as day. Yeah, okay, maybe he didn’t react right away but she also hasn’t given him a chance! He got called away to deal with something and when he came back she was gone.

And she’s been giving him the silent treatment ever since.

How is he supposed to address it if she won’t give him the time of day?

If he could go back in time and change it he would. Or...if he could simply be less of an awkward idiot. That would be good too.

******

_THREE DAYS AGO…_

He walked into the common room with his mind focused on one thing and one thing only. 

_Sylvie Brett_.

He found her sitting at the round table with a book open in front of her and a steaming cup of coffee in one hand.

She was always up earlier than the rest of them. He has never once seen her still sleeping in her cot when he finally makes it out of his quarters in the morning. He cleared his throat and grabbed a mug from the stack next to the coffeemaker. 

“Morning,” he greeted.

She looked up from her book and smiled warmly at him. “Morning.”

“So, have you, uh, found a new place yet?”

No, that wasn’t what he came in here to ask. Why was he stalling?

“A few prospects but...with Molly’s closed I know Herrmann needs the extra income so I’ll probably just take him up on his studio,” she answered, watching him prepare his coffee. “Once I have my savings built back up I’ll look for something else.”

He nodded his approval before he sat down next to her. “That sounds very practical and I’m sure Herrmann will appreciate it.”

“It’s a win for us both,” she said, shrugging modestly.

More of a win for Herrmann, but he didn’t say that. In truth, Sylvie’s helping him out by moving into that studio. Not that she would ever admit to that.

“Well, if you need any help—“

She grinned brightly and nodded. “I’ll call you. Don’t worry. You have a truck and I have a tiny sedan.”

He glanced around the room nervously, relieved that everyone else was still asleep. He’d planned it this way. He wanted to make sure he could get her alone. His fingers nervously tapped a beat against his mug and his free hand ran through his hair. He had no way to be sure but he would bet it was sticking out at odd angles now. And his palms were sweating.

Jesus, he’s a nearly forty year old man not a kid with a crush. Spit it out, Casey.

He scratched the back of his neck and cleared his throat again, catching Sylvie’s attention. “Listen, Sylvie, I was wondering—“

“AMBO 61 INJURIES FROM A FALL. NORTH RACINE—“

She gave him an apologetic glance, interrupting the location assignment. “That’s my cue. Rain check?”

“Uh, yeah—yeah, of course,” he said, clearing his throat a third time and squirming in his seat. Can’t he ever catch a break? “Later.”

She nodded and then sprinted toward the apparatus floor, Mackey trailing behind her from the direction of the bunkroom. 

He blew out a frustrated breath and wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers. Why the hell was asking Sylvie Brett out on a date always so damn stressful and why couldn’t the universe ever let him finish?

Half an hour later, he was sitting out on the apron with Severide. They were in a couple of lawn chairs smoking cigars and taking in the city in the early morning hours when the third bay door started to rise. 

A grin spread across his face, Ambo 61 was on it’s way back in. He looked up and, sure enough, could see the Ambo about to turn down their street. He reached over and set his cigar down on the edge of 81’s front bumper. Severide smirked and lifted one brow, but remained blessedly silent. He took in a deep nervous breath and wiped his hands on his pants again. They were already sweating.

Jesus, he was an idiot.

He looked away from the Ambo for barely a minute but in that minute the unmistakable sound of squealing tires and crunching metal hit his ears.

“Oh, shit,” Severide cursed, springing up from his chair and dropping his cigar.

The realization of what happened hit him in slow motion. He looked up in time to see the Ambo stop sliding, coming to a screeching halt in front of the house with the passenger side door scraping the road. Panic overwhelmed him. Sylvie was in that ambo. _Sylvie_ was seconds away from making it back to the house. _Sylvie,_ who he’d been trying and failing to ask on date just thirty minutes ago. He was frozen with fear. Fear that he’d never get to ask her. Fear that he’d wasted too much time looking for the _right_ moment. He couldn’t stand or walk. He couldn’t think. Finally, it was Severide who pulled him out of it.

“Casey! We gotta move!”

He nodded, wordlessly, and ran for his turnouts. Even if the scene was right outside, they needed their gear. But he can admit that he had never put them on faster than he did that day.

Severide made a call over the radio just as everyone else came pouring out of the house. Joe changed as fast as Casey had, running toward the scene with the two of them.

“I got the driver of the truck,” Severide announced, pointing toward the big rig resting halfway on the road and on the sidewalk. “You guys got 61?”

“Yeah, got it,” he replied, professionalism taking over. 

The back of the rig was a mangled mess. It was a good thing they were on their way back and didn’t have a patient. 

“Brett! Mackey! Call out!” Cruz yelled frantically.

Nothing. Total silence.

 _Fuck_.

Matt found a foothold on the underside of the ambo and climbed up on top of the crushed back to get a good look in the cab. Both Sylvie and Mackey were out cold, but otherwise whole.

He gulped, Adam’s Apple bobbing, before he tried calling out to them. “Brett!” He paused and took in a deep breath. “Mackey!”

Cruz wore a worried panicked expression and Matt knew exactly how he felt. He tried the driver’s side door but it was jammed, wedged into the frame by the impact.

“Cruz, tell Kidd we need the K-2!”

“On it, Captain!” He replied, sprinting for 81.

“Brett,” Matt said, softly and beseechingly. He ripped off one of his gloves and reached in to check her pulse. It was steady and thumping. He breathed a sigh of relief and gently brushed a wild strand of hair out of her eyes. “You gotta wake up, Sylvie. Come on.”

Mackey groaned from where she was pinned in and Matt switched his focus to her. 

“Don’t move, Mackey,” he ordered. “We’re getting you out. You okay?”

“I think so,” she replied with a wince. “Scraped all to hell but I think I’m fine.”

“Good! Stay as still as you can.”

In front of him, Sylvie whimpered and then gasped as she came to - jolting against the seatbelt.

Her eyes were wide and afraid, her breathing harsh. 

“Hey,” Matt said firmly as he hoped to get her attention. “Sylvie. Sylvie, look at me.”

Her eyes found his and he brought his still bare hand to her cheek, keeping her wild gaze trained on him and tenderly running a thumb across her cheekbone. 

“Breathe,” he reminded her. “In and out.” He demonstrated for her and eventually she mimicked him. He didn’t speak again until her breathing was even. “There you go. All good. Are you hurt?”

“No,” she answered, voice shaking. “I—I might have hit my head but otherwise I’m fine.”

“Okay, good. We’ll have you out in a few minutes. Hang tight.”

She swallowed thickly and nodded -- causing Matt to finally realize he was still holding her face. As he let her go he could make out tears in her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. Instead, she turned her attention on her partner, drilling her with questions about her well being.

The next few minutes passed excruciatingly slowly. He oversaw Gallo as he used the K-2 to cut the hinges on the driver’s side door and then he and Kidd pried the door off — tossing it onto the street.

He got a solid hold on Sylvie before undoing her seatbelt. He had one arm under her back and the other under her knees. Her grip around his shoulders tightened as he lifted her. A part of him enjoyed the close proximity but he wished it was under _any_ other circumstances. He handed her down to Cruz, who set her feet on the ground and then crushed her against him in a bear hug.

Ambo 95 arrived so Joe led her over to them while Severide came over and helped them get Mackey out of the passenger seat. Kidd and Gallo took her to the medics while he and Severide observed the scene.

“How’s the driver?” Matt asked.

Severide shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Fine. Not a scratch on him, but he’s pinned in pretty good. Chief’s checking on him now. Turns out, he fell asleep at the wheel. How are the girls?”

“Shaken up but they seem okay.”

Severide nodded and glanced around the wreckage. He let out a pained sigh when his eyes landed on the door. He flipped it over and then crouched next to it, running a reverent hand over Shay’s name. Casey walked to him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. He squeezed and then swallowed thickly, remembering the sight of Sylvie unconscious in the ambo.

“All things considered, I think Shay was looking out for them,” Matt said, trying to reassure his friend. “This should have been a lot worse.”

“Yeah,” Severide agreed. “She probably was. Don’t worry about me. Go check on Brett. I know you’re chomping at the bit.”

Matt didn’t ask Severide how he knew that or bother denying it. It was true. He was itching under every inch of his skin to go to her.

As he approached the ambo Kidd gave him a knowing glance and made her way to Severide, sensing as Matt did that he needed the support. Matt stood back and watched Desmond treat Sylvie. He completed a basic concussion check and then looked her over for bruises or lacerations. When that was done, she started to get up but Boden pointed her back down as he passed them on his way to 81.

“You’re going to Med. We’re following protocols on this, PIC Brett. I’m not taking any chances.”

She bit her bottom lip but dutifully nodded. “Yes, Chief.”

He repeated the same thing to Mackey as Desmond checked her over too. 

Matt approached her, noticing Sylvie fidgeting and bouncing her leg as she sat.

“Hey, you okay?” He asked in concern.

She glanced from him over to the wreckage and then back again. “The back of the rig looks like it exploded or something. I don’t even recognize it.”

He breathed in deeply, to keep the emotions clogging his throat at bay, and nodded. “A semi rammed through it. It could be worse.”

Their eyes met and she blinked up at him, looking dazed. “It could be worse,” she repeated. “Oh god, how am I even standing here right now? I should be dead. A huge truck hit my ambo, Matt! It doesn’t make sense that I’m—“

“Yes, it does,” he assured her. He went down that path a couple of years ago after that gunshot. He won’t let her take the same journey. “It makes sense. You’re here because you’re meant to be. End of story.”

His sentence was barely out of his lips before she jumped him. She wrapped her arms around his back and tucked her face into his neck. He returned the embrace immediately, holding her as tightly as he dared — mindful of possible unseen injuries.

After a lingering moment, Sylvie craned back to look at him. Her eyes scanned his face, pausing on his lips, and then suddenly she leaned up on her toes. Soft full lips met his, pressing lightly — experimentally, and he tensed.

 _Holy shit_. Sylvie Brett was kissing him.

Every muscle in his body went rigid and his eyes stayed wide open. The blood in his veins ran hot and then cold and he was extremely aware of the accident scene around them. Shock. He was going into _shock_. He’d spent the morning psyching himself up to ask her out. He in _no way_ prepared for _this_.

His palms were sweating again.

Fucking fantastic.

Just as the world started to blur around him and his muscles began to relax under her touch, she pulled back with wide eyes and a hissing breath sucked in through her teeth.

Her face flushed and she looked completely mortified. He saw terror and shame written across her gorgeous features and he wanted to correct her — wanted to pull her back in for a _real kiss_. Not whatever that was he just did. Because that frozen dumbass did not represent his real feelings. That dumbass hadn’t been kissed in far too long and it had been _even longer_ since he was kissed by someone he cared _very deeply_ about.

He opened his mouth to say some of this when Boden called for him from the back of 81. Matt barely bit back a scowl. He held up one finger to Brett. 

“Just, um, give me a minute,” he told her, fisting and unfisting his hands by his side. “We should talk.”

She didn’t say a word and kept staring at him with a blank look of horror. He couldn’t tell who she was horrified by, him or herself? Maybe both?

He let out a low frustrated growl as he stomped off toward Boden. Goddamn, what kind of mess did he just make? He wanted to talk to _her_. He didn’t want anything to do with the driver who hit them. He knew that’s what Boden wanted to discuss. How to safely free the truck driver. It was the last thing he wanted to do, but the guy was still pinned in so he didn’t exactly have a choice. 

As soon as they got the guy out he rushed back over to 95 —

Only to find it gone.

He threw a helpless questioning look over at Kidd, who shrugged and gave him an apologetic wince in return. 

“They took them to Med, Captain,” she told him. “Chief insisted.”

Of course they did. Of course, Sylvie Brett would kiss him — _finally_ indicating she felt even a fraction of what he did — and he’d completely bungle it. And _of course_ he’d blow his opportunity to explain.

God, he was so completely screwed.

******

So, now what the fuck is he supposed to do?

She’s avoided him ever since. Even around the Firehouse which should be _impossible_ , considering the close quarters. How does he get her to talk when she so clearly doesn’t want to?

One thing is clear, he has to do it _now_ or else she’ll leave the Firehouse and go back to ignoring his calls and texts. He marches from the bunkroom, tired of playing defense and waiting for her to come to him. 

It’s time for the offensive line to take the field.

And why is he suddenly thinking in football metaphors?

He inwardly groans at himself and searches every room in the house. She’s nowhere to be found. He marches to the bullpen to see if she’s in a meeting with Boden. She isn’t. _But_ that’s when he notices the door closed and blinds drawn in the Blue Office.

_Of course._

He tests the handle, pleased to find it unlocked, and swings it open. 

Brett looks up from the vacant desk that’s covered in stacks and stacks of boxes and nearly chokes on her coffee. It’s so reminiscent of last shift, with her book sitting open and her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail (that’s a little frizzier than it was nearly twenty four hours ago) that he can’t help but stare for a moment. He misses last shift — _before_ the accident.

But, much like then, the minute he sees her he forgets what to do with his hands. First, they go into his pockets, then they cross for a half a second, he tries resting them at his waist but that feels like he’s about to scold her. Ultimately, he just lets them flop at his side uselessly.

“You’re avoiding me, aren’t you?” He asks as he watches her finish swallowing a large gulp of coffee.

She bites her bottom lip, glances past him, and then waves him inside. She gets up from the desk and shuts the door behind him, locking it this time.

“Don’t worry,” she says, likely noticing his apprehensive expression. “I’ll keep my hands to myself this time. It’s just no one seems to have seen _it_ and I’d rather not be humiliated in front of everyone.”

Okay, but he doesn’t _want_ her to keep her hands to herself.

“We should talk,” he declares, lifting one hand to scratch anxiously at the back of his neck.

“No, we shouldn’t,” she rebuts. “We don’t have to. Honestly, that’s why I’ve been avoiding you.” She winces apologetically. “Sorry. We can forget it ever happened that way you don’t have to let me down easy and things don’t get awkward.”

He opens his mouth to speak but she rolls right through it, pacing in the small space between him and the door. 

“I mean it was just one kiss. No big deal and I had all that adrenaline pumping through me and I mean I nearly _died_. I was looking at the wreckage and then _you_ were right there and I—well, it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that it was one kiss and we can easily put it behind us and go back to the way things were before.”

He presses his lips together to keep from grinning. She’s talking at twice her normal speed and at a much higher pitch. She can’t seem to quit moving either. If she’s not pacing then she’s shaking her head and gesticulating broadly with her slender arms. She’s just as nervous as he is and, for some reason, that fact allows _him_ to relax.

He’s amused and sympathetic and he hates watching her spiral but he sees through it. He sees through _her_. It kindles hope in his chest. He steps closer, crowding her space so she no longer has the option to pace. He crosses his arms over his chest, comfortable in his own skin again.

“Can we though?” He asks her as he continues to step into her personal space. “Go back to the way things were before, I mean?”

“Why can’t we?” She asks, looking genuinely fearful. “We’re friends, right? I can’t lose anyone else, Matt! _Especially, not you._ ”

She’s so upset during her ranting that she doesn’t notice when he wraps his hand around her wrist, feeling her pulse thump erratically through her stress. Or when his other hand lands on her hip and slides to the small of her back.

“And I get that, based on your response to that kiss, you did not enjoy it. Signal received loud and clear, but I don’t want it to ruin—“

She lets out a startled squeak when his lips land on hers and he smiles against her mouth briefly before tugging her closer. Now she knows what it feels like to be ambushed with a kiss from the one person you can’t stop thinking about. No matter how hard you try. And he _tried_. But it was pointless because she kept creeping back up, like vines on a trellis. 

He trails his hand from her pulse point on her wrist to her elbow and then higher still until his palm cups her jaw. Her arms hang at her sides for a handful of seconds and then all at once it’s as if it _clicks_. She melts and catches up with him. One of her hands stops at his waist, fisting his white shirt, and the other finds his bicep before skimming over his shoulder to stop on the back of his neck. Her delicate touch slips into his hair and scrapes gently at his scalp.

All while he’s insistently slanting his mouth over hers, simultaneously putting an end to her ranting and reassuring her of his feelings. His lips capture her bottom lip between them. He nips very softly. She sucks in a breath and parts her lips, allowing him a slip of the tongue.

Jesus Christ, she’s addictive. He wants to sip slowly the way he would sip a glass of whiskey — savoring every second of the flavors on his tongue. But he’s quickly finding that impossible. With every taste and nibble he wants _more_. To the point where he’s tempted to swallow her whole, devour every inch of her right here in this makeshift storage space.

The kisses shift from soft and exploratory to bruising and urgent. He backs her up, around a stack of file boxes, to the desk until her backside hits the edge. He’s a millisecond away from putting his hands under ass and boosting her up to the edge of the desk when she wrenches her way out of the kiss. The separation of their mouths creates a sucking pop that reverberates between them.

“What—“ She sucks in a breath as she cuts herself off. Her blue irises swirl with desire and confusion as they find his. “What was _that_?”

“What I should have done after the accident,” he says with a sigh of relief while also memorizing the sight of her kiss swollen lips. “I’ve been kicking myself for 72 hours now over how much of an _idiot_ I am.”

“You mean you _weren’t_ freaked out by the kiss?” She asks in disbelief.

“No, I _was_ but not for the reason you think,” he replies with a mirthful grin. He releases her to nervously run a hand through his hair, huffing out a self deprecating laugh. “The actual reason is that when it comes to you I’m a nervous sweaty hopeless mess. You kissed me and I think my brain just... _overloaded_. I wasn’t prepared for it and it _floored me_. By the time I started to get my act together, you pulled away and then when I came back to straighten it out you were gone.” 

He encircles her waist with his hands, ducking his head slightly to maintain eye contact. He wants her to _see_ the truth of his next words. “I’ve been trying to talk to you for three days— No, four actually because I wanted to talk to you _before_ the accident too — because I was _hoping_ we could get drinks or go to dinner or whatever else you want, just you and me. You know, like a—“

“A date?” She asks, a wide smile blooming across her face.

“Yes, like a date,” he replies, releasing a breath he’s been holding for almost a week now. (Or that’s how it feels anyway.)

She looks enchantingly bewildered and he can’t help but smile back at her. 

Her voice is quizzical, as if she still doesn’t quite believe it. “You want to date me?”

“This is the third time I’ve tried to ask you on a date and the only time I haven’t been interrupted. _Yes_ , I want to date you. I have for some time,” he confesses.

She blushes brightly and her smile somehow grows. She grabs the collar of his Captain’s shirt and yanks, bringing his lips back to hers. She kisses him soundly, letting the kiss linger lazily, and then presses her forehead to his.

“I honestly thought I was the only one holding onto this messy crush.”

He smiles softly at her and shakes his head as it rests against hers. “No, not the only one. I’m right in the middle of the mess with you.”

“I would _love_ to go on a date with you, Matt,” she admits as she frames his face with her hands and points a bashful grin at him. “Anytime, any place.”

“Breakfast after shift?” He asks, hopefully.

“You’re on, Captain. Sounds perfect.”


End file.
